Dungeon Keeper Treecat
by Gremlin Jack
Summary: Far Leaper, a treecat from Sphinx, finds himself cast into a strange world, where he stumbles into the ownership of a Dungeon Heart and a bloodthirsty Horned Reaper. He brings nothing but his natural telepathy, a warrior's courage, and a belief that there are only two kinds of enemies - those who have been suitably dealt with, and those who are still alive. ABANDONED.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I own neither Dungeon Keeper nor Honor Harrington.

I do credit Pusakuronu for large chunks of the world I'm writing in, I've stolen them shamelessly from his awesome fic Dungeon Keeper Ami.

Reviews are the lifeblood of fanfic authors, please leave some!

N.B. - indicates scene change, x-o-x indicates brief passage of time in the same scene.

Far Leaper's ears flattened themselves in fear and awe, but he didn't let his concentration waver. Instead he continued to focus on the point in space three meters in front of him, the focal point for the humming machinery in the room. There! No mistaking it! Emerging from that point in nothingness, a flash of information that screamed out to his telepathic senses. It was gone too fast for him to comprehend, but that wasn't the point. For the first time, after centuries of research, the two-legs had succeeded in reaching out directly to the People's telepathy. Far Leaper, still concentrating, slowly raised a true-hand and made a sign. A simple sign, which simply meant "Yes" in the sign language that was the usual method of communication between the People and the two-legs. The various white-coated two-legs in the room starting chattering with excitement. Far Leaper could have followed their conversation easily – the People had no difficulty learning two-legged speech – but he continued to focus on the point.

The moment of truth was here – the research project had stalled for months, but now the two-legs thought they had a way of controlling and stabilizing the effect. The hum of the machinery reached a new pitch. A strange taste of copper filled Far Leaper's mouth, and he crouched low on his stool, tail-tip twitching in nervousness. He could feel the apprehension of the researchers, and at least they were shielded by triple-reinforced aliglass. Far Leaper was seated right in the same chamber as the target point, to minimize interference. Now, there was a definite visual effect, to match the increased outpouring of chaotic mental images. A tiny ball of nothingness formed on the point. The air around the darkness seemed to waver and twist in ways that made Far Leaper's eyes water. The apprehension in the mind-glow of the two-legs was changing to excitement. Some sort of decision point was approaching, and Far Leaper tensed himself in anticipation. Any moment now...

Unknown to the human researchers and their treecat volunteers, the Mesan Alignment's Operation Oyster Bay had gone into its final stages ten minutes previously. Already, over 5 million Manticorans were dead, as the massive space stations orbiting the planets of Manticore and Sphinx were shredded by graser missiles that had drifted in under stealth over several months. Now, thousands of tons of wreckage plummeted towards the planets below. Manticore, capital of the Star Empire, had the ground-to-space defences and search-and-rescue craft necessary to fend off the worst of the impromptu orbital bombardment. Sphinx, home of the treecats, did not. Tidal waves and meteor strikes added millions of human lives to the death toll. Treecats, living largely inland, would be spared, with one notable exception. A single chunk of space debris would impact dead center on the territory of the Brightwater clan, wiping them out to the last treecat. The strike would also wreck an obscure research station on the edge of the clan's territory. The lab's heavy construction would allow a good chunk of the humans and treecats in residence to escape with their lives. Far Leaper would be declared missing, presumed dead. The research would be indefinitely suspended, and the surviving scientists and engineers would be reassigned to the more immediate needs of an empire with its back to the wall.

The Horned Reaper (who called himself Burzum when he had someone to introduce himself to) blinked his eyes to clear the dancing spots left by the sudden flash of light after decades of darkness. As his darkvision reasserted itself, he stared at the new addition to his prison. Resting on top of the inactive dungeon heart was a... cat? It certainly looked like an oversized cat, except it had six legs instead of the standard four. Was it dead? No, still breathing. How did it get here? Considering it was no creature the reaper had seen before, it was probably a magical summoning gone wrong. Burzum got to his feet, stretching the kinks out of his 9-foot bulk. His mouthful of sharp fangs stretched his face into a permanent grin. Now that grin grew even broader. After seventy years of killing nothing but spiders, beetles, and earthworms, he finally had something substantial to get his scythe into. Even better, the creature was now stirring. Burzum decided to let the creature run for a bit. After all, it wasn't like there was anywhere for it to run to.

x-o-x

Far Leaper came awake to a pounding headache. Memory quickly returned. The last thing he remembered was the experiment to simulate telepathy with two-leg machinery. Clearly, something had gone wrong. Darkness all around, which meant he was either blind or buried alive. Luckily, he had other senses... Far Leaper found himself running headlong in the darkness. His claws skittered on stone as he halted his panicked dash, and his brain caught up with his instincts. There was a mind-glow behind him, so bright and powerful it could only belong to a two-leg. While two-legs couldn't perform telepathy, their emotional state was easy to read. In this case, the emotions were so clear they might as well have been words –_ Rend. Tear. Kill._ Far Leaper had sensed less bloodlust from the Death Fangs of the Sphinxian jungle. Even worse, this two-leg did not seem troubled by the total darkness. All Far Leaper could see was two glowing orbs far off the ground, and a faint glow that flashed through the air towards him. Far Leaper leaped to one side, and felt the glowing object smash into the stone where he'd been standing. With a yowl of distress that echoed from the walls, he started running, relying on his ears, nose, and whiskers, to keep from running into anything. Why was this two-leg trying to kill him? Where was everyone else? As far as his mind sense was concerned, there was no one around save Far Leaper and this murderous two-leg.

A new thought came to Far Leaper. All treecats had known that the two-legs of their world had been locked in combat with other two-legs for many winters now. Could this be one of the enemy? Certainly, its blood-drenched mind-glow explained how the war had lasted so long. But if it was one of the enemy, then the silence from his comrades – indeed the whole disaster – took on a more sinister cast. Clearly, then, their world was under attack. His companions were either dead or captive, and now one of the enemy troops had him in his sights. This changed things. Far Leaper might have been here as a research assistant, but he was first and foremost a warrior. And treecat warriors do not run when an enemy has obligingly placed himself within reach of their claws.

Far Leaper stopped. He could hear the two-legs screech to a halt behind him. He could feel the breeze as the two-leg's weapon came whistling down. He could pinpoint the enemy's location through smell – and idly noted the strange odor, a lot less sweat and a lot more sulphur. And then he leaped once more, ducking clean under the strike, and running between the enemy's legs. Then he launched himself straight up, and each of the four fingers on his six limbs unsheathed a claw as the tearing-canvas battle cry of an enraged treecat left Far Leaper's throat. A treecat's claws are an inch long, broad at the base, with razor-sharp edges optimized for tearing and rending, more in common to swords than to the claws of Earthly predators. With twenty-four unsheathed scimitars, Far Leaper went to work on the reaper's instep.

Horned Reapers are tough. Supernaturally so. They are living constructs created to be the ultimate warriors by Crassus, aka the Tyrant, dark god of brute strength and wanton slaughter. Burzum's human master had found it simpler to abandon the dungeon and bury him alive rather than kill him when he became a liability. A whole clan of treecats could do no more than inconvenience a reaper. But just because an injury is minor, doesn't mean it can't be painful. With a roar of anger and pain, Burzum backhanded Far Leaper, who by this time had worked his way up to the reaper's thigh and was vainly digging for the femoral artery. The yowling treecat was flung several feet, coincidentally landing right where he had started, on a smooth stone slab carved with arcane runes. As Far Leaper struggled to his feet, blood from his injured shoulder dripped onto the stone, which absorbed them like a sponge, and started to glow.

Dungeon Hearts are immensely complex magical artifacts, unsurprising as they were originally designed by Faustus, dark god of logical insanity and intellect unchained (for other forms of insanity, please apply to Deliria, also goddess of mind-affecting alchemy). Only a minority of Dungeon Keepers had the intellect necessary to unravel the mysteries of the dungeon heart. Those who were smart enough (or had minions smart enough, which came to the same thing) spent years researching them. The only simple thing about a dungeon heart is the process for activating a dormant one. It requires blood of the would-be keeper (check), the keeper isn't a direct agent of one of the divinities (check), some talent for magic (natural telepathy counts), and any strong negative emotion (rage and an implacable desire to destroy one's foes work just fine). A dull thud, the first beat of a gigantic heart, sent vibrations through the entire cavern. Far Leaper would have jumped off the vibrating stone, except some force kept his paws glued to the surface. A spike of blue-white light erupted from the dungeon heart, and Far Leaper screamed in agony and collapsed in a quivering heap as the light reached into the center of his being and tore out a fragment of soul to forge the final connection. The gigantic heartbeat, slow at first, increased in tempo to match Far Leaper's own adrenaline-fuelled pulse. The stone covering slid to one side, depositing Far Leaper on the edge of a pit about ten feet wide. From the center of the pit rose a crystal globe large enough to occupy the entire pit, containing an inner golden glow that expanded and contracted in time to the heartbeat of the dungeon. Four crystal pillars shot up from the ground, surrounding the central pit, then arched backwards to meet twenty feet above the beating crystal. Finally, a second perimeter of long thin pillars grew around the heart, reaching towards the ceiling. Each of these pillars glowed with a soft inner light. These lights did not waver, but instead shed steady illumination around the heart, on the battered treecat slowly standing up, and on a horned reaper standing still in an attitude of utter amazement.

Burzum spent several seconds scraping his jaw off the floor. That – thing – was a keeper? It was a cat! A six-legged cat! What was the world coming to, when six-legged cats could claim the key to limitless power and horned reapers couldn't? He had known, as a creation of Crassus, that he couldn't claim dungeon hearts for himself – part of the non-compete agreement between dark gods, violated often in spirit but usually adhered to in the letter. He had tried anyway, out of desperate boredom. No dice. But, apparently, six-legged cats were worthy. Well, a keeper wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The first thing a keeper would do is reactivate the dungeon's portal to the Underworld, which would be Burzum's way out. That was assuming the keeper didn't want to hire Burzum, and what right-thinking keeper wouldn't want to hire a Horned Reaper on the cheap? The new keeper was now getting back to its feet, and yes, its eyes were burning pools of balefire, the one unmistakeable symptom of Keeperhood. The keeper steadied itself, looked towards Burzum, and made a sound like the Reaper's scythe slicing through stone. It was not a happy sound. Burzum felt his own fighting spirit rise to the challenge, and had to work hard to keep from resuming combat. He wanted, very badly, to end this pathetic excuse for a keeper. But he wanted out of this hole even more. So, screwing up his courage, he ignored every instinct and prepared to perpetrate diplomacy. He realized he'd better talk fast, because the keeper was showing every sign of being about to do something drastic. "Wait... er...", _Darkgodsdamnit, what was that human word?_ "...Parley?" That gave the keeper pause, and Burzum took the opportunity to keep talking. "Look, Keeper, I'm sorry we got off on the wrong hoof, but how was I to know, eh? But you are the Keeper, blessed by the Dark Gods and what not, and so how'd you like me as your first minion? Horned Reapers work cheap, all I ask is to bathe in the blood of your enemies."

The Keeper stared at him for a moment, and a faint whisper hovered on the edge of hearing _"...what is he talking about."_ Burzum hadn't seen the keeper's lips move, but he took it in stride, telepathy was not that unusual. "What I'm saying is that we can help each other out instead of fighting -" _"YOU HEARD ME?!"_ The Reaper clapped a hand to his head, in a futile effort to drive out the instant migraine. "YES, I HEARD! THERE'S NO NEED TO SHOUT!" he roared. Another brief pause, then a flurry of furious questions, this time at a reasonable power. _"Why did you try to kill me? Where are my friends and the other two-legs? What are you doing here?"_ Burzum ignored the first question, since it was a silly thing to ask a reaper, and focused on the rest. "I don't know anything about your friends, I've never seen any creature such as you, Keeper. And I am here because this is where I have been trapped for the better part of a century." The keeper seemed to spend an unusually long time processing what were a couple of very simple sentences. _Brain the size of a cat's_, sneered Burzum to himself. _"Why do you call me Keeper?"_ The cat finally asked. "Well, I don't know your name, but you are a Keeper." The reaper replied evenly. Another surprisingly long pause. _"What is a 'keeper'?"_ Burzum felt his headache start to grow.

x-o-x

Far Leaper sat on the rim of the dungeon heart and considered the red-skinned nine-foot-tall, fang-mawed two-legged creature – this Horned Reaper Burzum - and everything the creature had told him over the last few hours. The Reaper stared back at him, boredom and barely restrained violence palpable in his mind-glow.

There was no doubt Burzum was telling the truth, at least as he saw it. From the beginning, Far Leaper had had no trouble sensing his emotions. Then, once Burzum had sworn fealty on the dungeon heart, the link had become even stronger. Earlier, Burzum could hear Far Leaper's mind-voice, but could only reply through words and emotions. Now, when Burzum spoke, Far Leaper caught images of the memories behind the words, hints of the unspoken assumptions. It was a crude version of treecat mind-speech, and Far Leaper was certain the 'dungeon heart' was responsible. His mind-glow had never felt so strong. It was like the rush that came when treecats consumed celery, only bigger. Now, if only what Burzum said made any sense!

First, he was apparently something called a Dungeon Keeper now. Never mind that he didn't want the post, he had it anyway. Being a Keeper meant that he could control Dungeon Hearts, and that creatures of some place called the Underworld would look to him as a leader and potential employer. There were humans in the underworld, but most of the denizens were creatures Far Leaper had never seen before, if the mental images were anything to go by. The position of Dungeon Keeper wasn't for life, it was for eternity. If his dungeon heart was ever destroyed, he would be sucked into the hole and banished to the realm of the dark gods, to join the piece of his soul he had already sacrificed to activate the dungeon heart.

There had been a lengthy digression here as Far Leaper clarified the definition of 'god' and 'soul'. He still wasn't sure he believed in either, but Burzum apparently did, and according to his memories so did everyone else.

Once he was banished to the dark gods' realm, the only way for him to come back was by crawling out of another dungeon heart that he owned. If he didn't own another heart, then the banishing was permanent. If he himself got physically killed, the banishing was permanent, spare dungeon hearts or no. Burzum's memories had been crystal clear on this point – the dark gods' realm was not a place even a native like him wanted to visit, let alone live there. But why, Far Leaper had asked, would anyone even want a dungeon heart? Because they could give you anything you wanted, provided you had the resources. They could even create servitor creatures called 'imps'. Given sufficient raw materials, a dungeon heart could replace an entire national industrial infrastructure. Treecats were not materialistic by nature, being barely removed from the Stone Age, but Far Leaper could understand the attraction. An attraction which would undoubtedly lead to other Keepers attempting to kill him for his Heart. This was leaving aside the surface inhabitants, most of who rightly despised Keepers and would attack him on general principles.

There had been a bit of a shouting match at this point. Far Leaper remembered the surface as being the domain of the People and humans, the latter being dominant but having arrived from the stars only a few hundred winters ago. Burzum had insisted that the surface was populated by humans, and some other two-legs called dwarves and elves, and these three species had always dominated the surface as far as history went, which was several thousand years. He had never heard of treecats, which meant if they even existed they were a marginal species at best. He had certainly never heard of humans crossing the stars, and had suggested that perhaps Far Leaper's people had either been blessed by a divine visitation, or suckered by con artists.

That last remark had resulted in a frosty silence, which Far Leaper now chose to break. _"It doesn't matter who is right. We need to find a way out of here. You may not need to eat or drink, but I do."_

"Finally! First sensible thing you've said yet! Make some imps and let's get digging. The surface is about four hundred yards straight up, and the portal is about a mile due east."

"_I don't know how to make imps."_

"Just give the dungeon heart a bit of gold or a gem."

"_Where am I going to get any of that?"_

"Well, you could just have imps mine for it..." the reaper trailed off. He suffered under Far Leaper's glare for a moment, then started pacing and waving his arms as he ranted. "Look, it's not my fault, it's the stupid dungeon heart. I mean, who builds a dungeon heart without a divine link? My former master used to complain about it all the time. " _"Explain."_ "Look, each Keeper who figures out how to build their own dungeon hearts, they all have their own idea as to how to go about it. Most have a dungeon heart that has a direct link to a particular dark god's realm from which it can draw power. Not a lot, but enough for basic things like imp production. Whoever built this one though, was so dumb he couldn't figure out how to get a dark god's blessing. So it's fuelled entirely by gold and gems. Want to cast a spell? Gold. Want to make an imp? Gold! Want it to tell you the fucking time of day? Fucking gold! I mean, getting a dark god's blessing is the easiest thing in the world – just slaughter a few surface villages and dedicate them to your chosen deity – but whoever made this was apparently too stupid to manage it."

Far Leaper carefully concealed the spike of fury that went through him at that last comment. He had already determined that Burzum would never see the light of the surface. Unfortunately, it was looking like he wouldn't, either. _"So, without gold, we are still trapped."_

"Well, maybe not. I just remembered something. Blood."

"_What?"_

"All dungeon hearts can get power from the blood of the living. It's part of the basic design. It's why the activation needs you to bleed on it. Not many use that method though, because it's so inefficient. You need a lot of blood even for the simplest spells."

"_How much blood to get an imp that can dig us out?"_

"Quite a bit. More than you've got in you, I'll wager."

"_I wasn't thinking about me."_

Burzum's eyes widened as he snatched up his scythe. "Oh, no! You ain't sacrificing me!"

"_Stop panicking. No one's killing anyone. You just need to donate some blood. So get over here already!"_ As Far Leaper issued the mental command, he felt a strange sensation – as if he'd picked something warm and wriggling with a true-hand, and dumped it somewhere else. Suddenly, the Reaper was standing on the edge of the pit, right next to Far Leaper. There was a bit of shouting and threatening before Burzum explained that transporting one's minions within claimed or neutral territory was a part of the Keeper's powers. Could he transport himself using that same power? Yes, he could. Far Leaper happily spent a minute bouncing himself and the reaper all over the dungeon before more threats of violence ended that entertainment. Finally, the reaper prepared to donate blood. He chewed into his left wrist using his teeth, and let the black fluid drip onto the central crystal, which absorbed it like a sponge.

"No, I'm not going to use my scythe, it's cursed!" he responded snappishly to Far Leaper's query. Far Leaper made a note.

As the blood dripped onto the crystal, Far Leaper could feel it. A slight increase in tension, in that part of his mind that he had come to associate with the dungeon heart. For over half an hour, Burzum stood over the central pit, repeatedly tearing at his arm to hold back the rapidly healing skin. Far Leaper felt the first change. It was like his mental picture of the dungeon heart suddenly gained an additional detail. It was like a symbol, and when he mentally touched it, he could feel it buzzing and crackling, and he just knew that if he chose to activate the symbol, lightning and thunder would appear wherever he chose. When he explained this feeling to the Reaper, Burzum just grunted. "Lightning. One of your basic attack spells. Might have been included as part of the original design of the heart, or it could have been added as a later feature. This means we're getting close, imp creation doesn't need much more mana than your basic lightning bolt."

The constant blood loss seemed to be affecting even the indefatigable reaper, when it finally happened. A new symbol was added to his mental connection to the heart, and Far Leaper instinctively knew it was the imp creation spell. In fact, when he focused on the spell, his mind was filled with details on imps, a full breakdown of their abilities and powers. Most convenient, as in this one vital thing he no longer needed to rely on Burzum's sketchy knowledge. Far Leaper activated the spell, and he could literally feel the mana drain out of the heart. The symbols for the imp and the lightning spell disappeared from his mind, as the heart could no longer power them. Green motes of light erupted from the heart, swirling together and then dissipating, leaving behind the imp.

Far Leaper stared. Burzum's mental image of an imp had been something as tall as a treecat's body was long, with bat-like ears and large black orbs for eyes, with a scaly skin and wearing a loincloth. The height, ears, and eyes were the same, but the imp was covered in soft gray fur, and had cat-like whiskers. At least it carried the magical pick and miner's sack. Far Leaper looked at Burzum with a raised eyebrow. The reaper shrugged. "Do we send him up or down? The surface is nearer..." _"Down. The surface is hostile."_ It wasn't the real reason – Far Leaper wanted, more than anything, to feel the sun and the wind on his fur – but the Reaper accepted it. Aiming itself towards the portal, the imp started to dig.


	2. Chapter 2

**A\N: So, here's chapter two, and our treecat's second minion. I'm going to try and update at least once a month, and hopefully more often. If you like, please review! If you don't like, review anyway :)  
**

Far Leaper waited on the raised platform around the dungeon heart with the patience of a born hunter. The only movement was his twitching tail. The horned reaper Burzum was far less philosophical. He would alternate between sulking while standing around or sulking while pacing the floor. For variety, he would curse either his former master (one Dragos the Destroyer) for trapping him, or his current one for claiming a dungeon heart without any start-up funds. Far Leaper remained supremely indifferent to his tirades, as he waited for his lone imp to finish digging the tunnel to the portal that would connect the dungeon to the Underworld.

Far Leaper found the whole situation wearying. He was tired and sore, and extremely thirsty. To top it off, he had spent almost six hours in the horned reaper's company. More than the creature's grumbling, it was its bloodthirsty mindglow that wore on him. Such a violent creature would have been considered an aberration, to be been hunted down by any treecat clan that came across him. But Far leaper was not a clan, he was alone and currently the creature's employer. It was a sickening thought, but Far Leaper had nothing to do but think.

After much thought, he had decided to tentatively accept the horned reaper's outlandish claims as to what the world was like. It went against all treecat lore, but the horned reaper's story was backed up by his presence and the presence of the dungeon heart, beating away under his feet. Not to mention the imp. Far Leaper knew that humans had devised methods of traveling to different worlds. Presumably, something like that had happened to him, which is how he had ended up here. What really worried him, though, was that according to the reaper's descriptions, the humans here were a backward lot compared to those at home. Whatever effect had brought him here, they were unlikely to be able to duplicate it. Which meant he was likely to be stuck here, with the unwanted title of "Dungeon Keeper" to boot. What was worse, the humans (and elves and dwarves, whatever those were) were likely to treat him as an enemy. It was a worrying thought. While there was no shortage of wicked humans on Sphinx, treecats could, by and large, count on their cooperation. Perhaps it was a good thing the humans here were so backward, because there was no chance in hell he could have survived the enmity of Manticore.

These were the thoughts that had been circling in his brain for some time now. He had tried making plans, but he had too little information, and the horned reaper had been growing more uncooperative as his boredom increased. Instead he turned his attention back to the imp. The creature was truly amazing. Although the same size as Far Leaper, it tore through rock and soil like so much cotton. It had to be the pick, the lightest touch seemed to set the soil crumbling. The soil then promptly disappeared, and every now and then, with tiny bell-like sound, the gold pieces resting at the foot of the dungeon heart increased by one. After four hours of digging, three gold pieces rested there. The imp would pause every so often, and do a strange little dance – and whatever he happened to be standing on suddenly gained a pattern that had come to denote Far Leaper's territory. The pattern comprised of bright forest green and gray checks, with a central coat of arms that looked a lot similar to arms of House Winton, ruling family of Manticore – right down to the treecat mascot. Far Leaper wondered, not for the first time, how deep his connection to the dungeon heart went. Until he saw the coat of arms, he hadn't even realized that he knew what the Winton crest looked like.

At long last, the imp broke into the chamber containing the portal. It was pretty much as the reaper had described it, a large archway sitting by itself in a cavern. As soon as the imp entered the room, the whole room turned over to his pattern. Far Leaper instinctively knew all the relevant details about the portal. It was fully charged, and there were three locations within its reach, but it could only access one place at a time. He also knew that while connecting or disconnecting a portal was instantaneous, a portal took about six days to recharge after a disconnection. At least they were self-maintaining, although making one cost a fortune. Well, Far Leaper knew he could destroy any building he possessed to get back some cash value from the dungeon heart, which meant the portal was a source of gold if he ever grew desperate enough.

Far Leaper stood up, and focused. It was like flexing a muscle – suddenly, he was standing in front of the portal. He took some minutes to carefully study and mentally probe it for as much information as he could. He found he could look out from the portal to whatever locations it opened on to. One view showed him a cliff face full of caves, with green-skinned sharp-toothed creatures the size of imps scurrying about. The second view showed a much more organized place. It looked like a proper city, with proper two-legs walking about. Most of them had large pointed ears, but they were close enough to humans that Far Leaper almost forged the connection then and there. But he decided to check on to the third one before deciding. The third view should what looked like a village to the previous one's city. There was a sparseness in the view that indicated a certain lack of population. There was no one near the portal, although he did see humanoid figures in the distance. Humanoid but clearly not human.

Far Leaper felt the last dregs of hope drain out. Here it was, undeniable proof that he really was somewhere very, very far from home. He was still sitting there feeling sorry for himself when Burzum came clomping in. "Ah! At last! Come on keeper, hook it up so we can get some more minions in here and make this place like a proper dungeon." Sighing, Far Leaper made a concise summary of what he had seen and shoved the information into the reaper's brain, along with a request for a recommendation. Burzum considered and spoke: "The Dark Elf city's out. The snooty bastards charge you money simply for setting foot on their turf. The goblins are a pain in the ass. They're stupid, smelly, and lousy fighters. The only good thing about them is there are a lot of them and they work cheap. Plus, wherever there are goblins, there will be giant beetles and spiders. They don't need paying at all. I don't know anything about the other place. I say pick the goblins. Even if you don't hire any, I can always kill a few without anyone missing them."

Well, that decided it where Far Leaper was concerned. He immediately chose the third option. Far Leaper knew nothing of goblins, but they were not his enemies, so he was not going to inflict the reaper on them. At least, in an unknown place, Burzum might be cautious enough to not immediately go on a killing spree. Ignoring the reaper's burst of profanity as he saw the unattractive place the portal now opened to, Far Leaper turned to the waiting imp and gave his instructions. "Connect the dungeon to the nearest source of fresh water. Then dig to the nearest concentration of valuable ore and start mining it." Far Leaper wondered if the imp was smart enough to understand such ill-defined instructions. Apparently it was. With a twitch if its whiskers, it headed back down the tunnel. Soon, the sound of its pick started again. Then, with the reaper at his side, Far Leaper stepped through the portal.

The first impression that Far Leaper got was one of openness. The portal stood in the middle of a cavern so vast you couldn't see the ceiling, and at least a mile across. The buildings, though, had an air of shabbiness about them. The comprised of low stone huts. Many of them were little more than piles of rubble, with the inhabited ones marked by nearby midden heaps. The only sizeable structure anywhere near them was a two-story cone-shaped stone building, with a gigantic flame burning from its tip. "Ah! A temple! To Vesuva, the god of destruction, from the looks of it. You do whatever you want, keeper, I'm going to go pray." Far Leaper stared. Religion was the last thing he expected from the omnicidal maniac, but the reaper was sincere. The treecat watched in bemusement as Burzum loped off towards the temple. Well, at least scouting would be easier without a hot tempered killing machine in tow.

Already, the treecat could see several denizens poking their heads out, staring at the reaper. The looked like large, square two-legs with pink skin and sharp tusks jutting out of an overdeveloped lower jaw. None of them seemed to have noticed him yet, so Far Leaper flattened himself low to the cavern floor, and slipped into the nearest pile of rubble.

x-o-x

Knuckles the orc watched the reaper head towards the temple. Fascinating as it was to see one of the legendary beasts, he had other things on his mind. His fellow orcs would soon be putting two and two together, so he had to move fast. He knew his chances of success were low, but that was something he was used to. He was, after all, the smallest orc in town. His lack of stature had given rise to his name. "No bigger than my knuckles." some boss orc had once said to while publicly rejecting his attempt to join his warband, and from then the name had stuck. Knuckles forgave the warboss when the fool managed to get himself and his entire warband killed in some far-off battle.

But now he had his chance. For the first time in over forty years (if the old-timers' tales were to be trusted) a keeper had chosen to connect his portal to Big Hole. Usually, those who wanted to serve a keeper had to take three portal connections over to the Spider Caverns, and that was a hugely competitive market. Orcs there couldn't get anywhere unless they were part of a warband, and no warband wanted him. He had almost resigned himself to taking up a civilian job of miner or hunter or spider herder. But that wasn't what he wanted. All his life, Knuckles had wanted to be a warrior. Not for the potential for wealth, though that was there. What he wanted was the automatic respect that a warrior was accorded in orc society. With a few battle scars and a pouch full of looted gold, no one would laugh at his claim to be a warrior. For a moment, he entertained his favorite daydream, of waltzing into the auction hall of the women's world, and in front of his jealous peers, slapping down a fist-sized gem to buy an exclusive lifetime contract to the finest beauty the town had to offer. Then he shook his head. That was some distance off. First, he had to get himself hired by this keeper. Then, he had to survive long enough to build up his stash. Put that way, it actually sounded simple.

He went to his main hideout. He had several scattered in the rubble (rubble and temples to Vesuva sort of went together) but this one was where he kept some of his prized possessions, a suit of light chain armor – good for stopping most light weapons – and a well-balanced orcish short sword. He considered these items as his first spoils of war. He had beaten a drunken soldier over the head with a club and swiped his sword and armor before his equally drunk friends realized their companion was taking an awful long time for a piss.

He dressed himself and stepped out with a new-found swagger. In his mind, he was as good as hired. Heading to a second small hidey-hole, he pulled out his first and favorite piece of loot. As a boy, he had been a servant to one of the few rich orcs in town. That old man had also gotten his start as a keeper's lackey. As a servant who was beneath the notice of everyone else, he had had the run of the place and had known where all the best stuff was kept. When the old man died, the estate had devolved into chaos as his sons fought over his gold, and the servants argued over the curtains and clothes. Knuckles had sat by the old man's deathbed, waited until everyone was occupied, then quietly reached underneath the bed and pulled out the old man's personal weapon and left. Now he pulled it out of its hiding place – a 10-shot repeater crossbow with a steel-and-ebony frame. It had absolutely no decoration except a small maker's mark at the base, but even an orc from the hicks knew dark elf manufacture when he saw it. The bow had come with a full load of bolts, also of elven make. Knuckles still had them, carefully wrapped in cloth. He wouldd use them on his first battlefield, and not before. Until then, his homemade bolts would suffice. Fully equipped and feeling unstoppable, he headed for the portal.

His euphoria lasted until he saw the crowd around the portal. Apparently, several others had the same idea as him. There were at least twenty orcs around the portal, all standing around. armed to the teeth. Specifically, all four of Sabretusk's crew were there, including Tusk himself. These four were contemporaries of his, but they had already seen battle in some of the orc clan skirmishes. They were the ideal of the orc male – big, strong, thick as bricks and a whole lot tougher. This alone would have guaranteed Knuckles' dislike, but Sabretusk and his friends took particular pleasure in tormenting Knuckles when bored. Sure enough, as soon as Knuckles approached the area, they took one look at him and burst into laughter. "Awwww, widdle Knuckie all grown up." chortled one. "Whose mother did you sell to get that stuff?" asked another. "Now, now, less of that you lot." growled Sabretusk with mock gravity. "After all, he would look right at home… in a human army."

There it was. His short, skinny stature had drawn that comment before. _Humanblood_. When applied to the offspring of an orc male and human female, it was a simple statement of fact. When applied to an orc whose mother was also known to be an orc, it was a grave insult. Vendettas had been started over less. The other orcs perked up with interest, looking forward to some free entertainment. Knuckles felt himself start to sweat, as a lifetime's survival instincts started clamoring. _Don't rise to the bait. Ignore the audience. Bow your head and look away. You're here to get hired, not get killed._ Sabretusk was standing there, sneering, confident that Knuckles would fold, like always. There was no help to be had from the others. Casting his eye around for some way to get out without looking like a complete coward, Knuckles noticed movement. Around the gray stone at the base of the portal, a grey-furred creature was stirring. It was fairly small and harmless-looking, but then it opened its glowing red eyes.

x-o-x

After much searching, Far Leaper had found a stream of water to drink from. It was the only good thing to have happened that day. The town was a shithole, and its occupants worse. He had heard several unflattering things about the two-legs' habits back home, but the two-legs here surpassed all the rumors. To make it worse, the mind-glow of the two-legs here was muted in comparison to the ones back home. Far Leaper wondered if it had anything to do with their apparent lack of intelligence. To top off a rather disappointing hour, he had come back to find a herd of the goons standing around the portal. They seemed to be waiting for something, but since their mind-glow showed no hostility, Far Leaper hadn't bothered inquiring further. Instead, he had curled up for a nap while he waited for Burzum, who was still at the temple. Now, the, mind-glows of some of the group had changed with the arrival of the newcomer. The new fellow, at about 5'5", was a good six inches shorter than the second shortest around, and skinnier to boot. Far Leaper didn't need to speak the language to know bullying when he saw it. The shorter fellow's mind-glow indicated subservience, then the two-leg looked past the others and saw him, and all of a sudden, things got interesting.

x-o-x

_Oh shit, the keeper's watching!_ That tore it, there was no way to back down now. Taking a deep breath, Knuckles cut loose with a retort that he had been crafting for years, but never had the courage to utter. "You'd know about human armies, wouldn't you? I heard your mother was one of Old Albert's camp followers." Albert was the ruler of the nearest surface human settlement, and noted for leading battles personally, even at age sixty. Sabretusk and his cohorts went still as statues, apparently unable to believe their ears. There were mutters of appreciation from the audience at this high level of repartee.

Then Sabretusk gave a broad grin, and drew his axe. "I've been wanting to do this for years, shorty." Panicking quietly, Knuckles raised his crossbow into position. Sabretusk actually looked surprised, as if he hadn't thought someone might use a crossbow when he had a sword handy. But whatever his mental defects, there was no denying his skill as he sent the axe whirling at Knuckles in an underarm swing. Luckily for Knuckles, it wasn't balanced for throwing, and the heavy haft bounced off his armor, knocking him off his feet. As he sat down heavily, his finger closed reflexively on the trigger, sending a bolt through his attacker's left foot. When the stars finally faded from his vision, Knuckles was treated to what became a cherished memory – Sabretusk rolling on the ground clutching his leg and howling a blue streak.

One of Sabretusk's cronies stepped forward. "You've had your shot, now we gonna take you apart. Slowly. We gonna feed you your own – " the second bolt took the speaker through the chest, punching him through his thin leather armor. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Mentally, Knuckles gave thanks for his one act of discipline in an undisciplined life, his weekly training with the crossbow. This time, he worked the winch slowly, so that the other orcs could see the reloader in action. "I'm sorry, did I break your concentration? Were you expecting only one shot? Maybe I have only the two. You could try again. I mean, what are the odds this thing can hold three, or even four?" Knuckles knew he was babbling but he couldn't help it. If he stopped talking, he might just piss himself.

_ENOUGH._

The whole crowd shuddered as the voice swept through their minds, and as one, they turned to stare at the furry little creature with the glowing red eyes. Alright, _now_ Knuckles was ready to piss himself.

x-o-x

Far Leaper approved of the swiftness with which the small one dealt with his attackers. But they could settle their problems somewhere away from his portal. Now he addressed the crowd once more.

_"Why are you all here?"_

There was much shuffling and glancing, and then one of the older-looking ones stepped forward. "Um… we are warriors. Ready to swear loyalty to you, o mighty Keeper." he said, in a language that Far Leaper understood. The accompanying mental images removed all ambiguity.

So, Burzum hadn't been exaggerating about the amount of pull that keepers had. However, he knew that most intelligent troops demanded payment. Plus, his idea of troops had been influenced by his exposure to Manticoran Marines and Sphinx Rangers, and these orcs fared poorly in comparison.

_"I am not hiring warriors. Leave this place. Now." _The stern note in the last word did it, and the crowd of orcs started breaking up. Soon, the only one left was the short one. Far Leaper considered him warily. The short two-legs had a ranged weapon and knew how to use it, and even though he wasn't hostile, his continued presence was worrisome.

x-o-x

_I'm a dead orc walking._ Knuckles hadn't missed the look of pure loathing Sabretusk had given him as he limped away, supported by his surviving comrades. He had to get hired or quit town, or he wouldn't last the week.

_"You are still here. Why?"_

Knuckles gulped. Keepers were far more terrifying than the stories. He wasn't fooled by the cute and cuddly exterior for a moment. Stories told that keepers could possess bodies, and the real being had to be enormously powerful to command a horned reaper. The small furry body had to be some sort of statement as to how confident the keeper was in his power.

"Well… you said you didn't want warriors. But I have other skills. Like say… a guide? I know my way around the locality, none better! I can show you where to get the best deals on supplies and slaves. If you want some other minions like priests or warlocks, I know where to get reliable ones. I know everyone I do! And I know other things. I can repair buildings, mend fences, herd spiders, swing a pick, I was an armorer's apprentice for some time…." half-truths and exaggerations aplenty, but Knuckles wasn't so foolish as to outright lie to a keeper about his skills. The stories had been very clear about what keepers did to minions who failed them.

The keeper seemed to consider him for an eternity. _"How much for your services?"_

"Well, apart from the traditional gold coin to seal the deal, the standard warrior rate is two gold a week plus expenses… but since you don't want a warrior, I might take a bit less…."

_"Two gold a week is fine. Expenses within reason. Here is your advance. Go through the portal and wait for my return, I shall find use for you then."_ The furry keeper pulled a coin out of nowhere, and held it out. Knuckles took it reverently. It was the first time he had ever held a gold coin. He was practically skipping as he headed for the portal.

_Yes, I'm in! And working for a keeper powerful enough to command a horned reaper! You know a Keeper like that is going places! I wonder what kind of shares of loot he gives out after a successful battle? I'm sure his other minions will fill me in. I bet those fools who went off will be kicking themselves when they realize what they missed out on._ Filled with elation at his new-found wealth and hope for the future, Knuckles stepped through the portal into his new master's domain.


	3. Goodbyes

**Due to a combination of lack of time and lack of ideas, I have no choice but to announce that there will be no further updates to this story for the foreseeable future.**

**I apologize to those who followed my story, but I just can't seem to work up the enthusiasm to continue it any further. If anyone wishes to adopt this story and carry it on, you have my blessings to do so.**

**If any of you are actually a fan of my writing style, I have another fic on this site, "Shinobi Team Devil Bats", a Naruto x Eyeshield 21 crossover. That fic, I will be updating regularly, as I actually have several solid ideas for upcoming chapters. **

**Thank you for reading my work!**


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